Can't Stand the Heat
by Lovingh3art
Summary: As summer kicks in around Gotham City, Commissioner Gordon notices something is up with Clayface, and it might not just be the seasonal heat getting to him...
1. Act One

**Disclaimer: I do not own Commissioner Gordon, Batman, or Clayface. They are character created and owned by DC Comics.**

* * *

Being a police commissioner has pros and cons. For an old dog like me, the biggest is my smoking addiction. I can't smoke anywhere near police business, or else there'd be retribution from the higher ups. The same's been said for tonight; I get a call for some kind of incident at Daggett Pharmaceuticals. I almost put the phone down before the officer calling me mentions something else. Something that makes me stop dead.

"There's clay residue at the crime scene, Commissioner."

Everything that I was thinking becomes meaningless as I fix on my coat and bust out the door, slipping the phone into my pocket. By the time I'd gotten to my car, I'm subconsciously focusing on how and why Clayface – former actor turned horror monster Basil Karlo – escaped from jail. He's been there for at least three months since his last rampage…it wasn't like he could've escaped without some red flag raised…

Sooner than I'd expected, my car pulls up to the crime scene. I peer out of my window and rush out, catching a glimpse of the flashing police lights. At least ten beat cops and a fine-line of yellow tape are present. Detectives are taking their ten cents on it all while lab techs photograph wrecked machinery strewn like spaghetti on the floor. To my luck, Bullock is assessing the mess from the corner. He notices me coming closer and puts down his donut. Honestly, he needs to get that addiction under control, but I know that me telling him that is more hypocritical than he'd know.

"What do we have, Harvey? Heard it could be something related to Gotham's favorite mud man?" I ask with no hint of tiredness or lacking. Tonight, it's all game face.

"No sugarcoating the obvious, boss," He says back. "Witness descriptions said that Clayface came in and caused a scene inside the building. Security spread thin, machines smashed – the usual package. And the usual clues, too." One of his chubby hands swerves around, directing my eyes to the various clay droppings around the entrance hall. "The crazy thing is, it wasn't a normal heist…"

My brows tighten. _Since when is anything he does qualify as normal?_ "Elaborate."

Bullock sighs, then turns to jab a finger at the nearest lab. Up until this point, I haven't seen it, but the reason why is quickly apparent; the door has been torn right off, and the remaining pieces mimic the clay in scattering itself across the remainder of the lobby. As we enter inside, my eyes balloon at the damage Karlo had done to the place. Entire stacks of computers, torn to shreds…chemicals and glass splattered across the walls in the fashion of some twisted tie-dye experiment. I know he's a mess, but the amount of destroyed equipment is going to cost this place billions.

"Good lord…" I trail off in shock.

"Stinks of his M.O," Harvey fires off absentmindedly. "I'd chalk it up to somethin' stupid, but ain't any evidence to make light of something yet."

"And he didn't steal money or data or anything?"

Harvey blinks and frowns, shaking his head a couple times so hard I'm sure it's going to spin right off. "Nope. All the few witnesses we got could say for sure was that he was moanin'…claimin' he was in pain."

I sigh, then glance at the nearest lab tech. "Make sure you get DNA samples of what's been happening here." The assistant, a young man wearing glasses too reminiscent of Harry Potter, nods in response. I cough and strut back out, all the more confused by what happened here. And all the more determined to find the crazed truth.

* * *

The best we have for scientists at GCPD is our forensics unit. With the lackluster funding from City Hall, we've either gotten great or sleazy experts for the job, and more sleazy than great. Luckily, I have one person I can rely on: Janice Martin, a transfer from the Metropolis PD. She has the best instincts and skills I've ever seen, so if I ever need a personal opinion, she's the right woman for the job.

I walk into the lab, thankfully knocking before I enter. She sits at her desk but turns around once I come in, her hands folded like she's praying for something. "Hello, Jim. This another fun visit?

"Sadly, no," I mention with a small but hard laugh. "I've got a case that's quite pressing. Think you've got the time to give your opinion?"

"Sure thing." She takes the file, packed with photos and the DNA, with a smile and place it on her desk. Her hands pick up the DNA strand, which in this case is a small blob of brown clay. "Gotham's resident ball of mud, I take it?" Janice asks with charisma.

"That's what we know," I concede. "We're hoping a look at the DNA will tell us what drove him to cause damages this time."

Janice chuckles a laugh, one I'm too familiar with at police fundraisers and colleague gatherings. It's almost enchanting – but not enough to take me out of the current conundrum. "Wouldn't hurt to try," she replies while scooting the sample underneath a microscope. The entire process quickly becomes dilatory in my purview, so I take to glancing around her office. Various awards and titles from other cities are placed on the walls, one being from Fawcett City. Fawcett, of all places. Never was there myself, but it's a definite standout in an otherwise reputable record.

"Jim." The use of my name is hard and edgy. From my collaborations with her in the past, I can tell something's gone wrong. At the very least I dart over to her position, where she generously allows me to look into the microscope. My eyes enlarge at what I'm seeing; the very clay tissue is turning black and copying from itself into more pieces, all that fall apart in the end.

"There's…some kind of genetic breakdown in the clay. It's starting at a cellular level, and from there, it crumbles just like any other kind of clay when it's too brittle." Her face is completely serious now, the cheerfulness vacuumed away to other pastures.

"What do you think is causing this?" I ask with urgency.

"…Honestly, Jim? This is all new territory for me." Janice struts over to her desk and looks down with her hands planted on it. "I've studied metahuman physiology, but unless I get some sort of larger sample – Karlo himself, perhaps – I'm at a loss for an explanation here."

Her words mince into me, giving me an idea of what I have to do. It's not what'd I'd prefer into his situation, but it's better than the alternative. With a deep sigh, I take the file back in one hand and open the door with the other. A brisk goodbye escapes my lips as it shuts on my departure.

* * *

Standing on the roof, huddling into myself to keep warm, is already a fight in itself. But despite the cold and tiredness coming on to me, I feel that I can hold out. And quicker than I figure, the dart of a shadow makes its way to the other side of the roof. Snorting, I swirl to see past the Bat-Signal the very thing I've been looking forward to all night – Batman himself.

If I said that he was a sight for sore eyes, it'd be too much of a cliché.

"Jim," he deadpans, probably for the hundredth time at this point. "Something wrong?"

He's on to me. But then, of course, he is. He's Batman, after all. I sigh and produce the files from my coat, holding them open with one hand. He takes them gently in a dash of black, pouring over them before I even start talking. "Clayface recently attacked Daggett Pharmaceutics and left with nothing," I resign to inform him. "Our lab techs found parts of his body all over the place, dripping like diarrhea."

His fingers scrunch up the report as he hears what I'm saying through his cowl. "His body's breaking down."

Ten steps ahead of me. Exactly what I expected from him.

"That what I figured," I continue. "I checked in with an acquaintance of mine in DNA specialties, and she found that his body's coming apart at the molecular level. Thing is, she can't tell what's causing it. Her exact words… 'it's like clay when heat makes it too brittle.'"

He nods, not looking up from the paper. Suddenly, I get the impression that he's knowing more than he's letting on. And my hunch is affirmed when he gazes back up from the report. "Just as I suspected."

"As you suspected?" I'm about to get more questioning, only to stop myself; he knew because he's Batman. "So, you knew this was happening?"

In his usual dark way, he grunts to confirm what I'd thought. Before I can further ask, one gloved hand dips into his cape to throw a container of some kind at the ground. It hits and skids a couple of feet from where mine are located, but my eyes are too focused on what's inside. A sprawled, greasy substance of some kind...

Then, to my horror, I'm hit with the realization…What I've been looking for this entire time – Clayface - is right there and writhing in his own body like some b-movie horror scene. Dear god…

"That's Clayface?"

"Yes," he deadpans again. "I found him on the far west side, holed up inside a dumpster slowly melting to death. The rest of his body's stored inside of the Batmobile."

My hands tighten and my breaths come to a halt. "The way thing's been going…do YOU have a lead?"

His body tenses up, then he looks right at me. "Yes, I do." Another gloved hand extends towards me, but whatever is inside it is too far off to see. I come right next to it. It's seeds…seeds?

"Oh no…" I trail off. Everything becomes clearer as right there, I come to realize just who's behind this.

"Ivy."


	2. Act Two

This shoulda' been a normal day for me. I was going to rob another bank, score some cash, lay low. Simple as that. But then, somethin'… happened. My-my whole body started hurting, and it wouldn't stop. The pain got so bad, I thought goin' to Daggett Pharmaceuticals…scaring' people…it'd help me get something to ease the pain.

But it didn't.

I smashed up some machines good. People were panicky. But bits of me were meltin', and that couldn't be worse than what I thought would end up happening'. So I bolted out o' there, tried as hard as I could. And then I melted…

Help me…

Please…

* * *

Batman helps me load Clayface's remains into the GCPD, though he still gets a few disapproving glares. Seriously, the number of people who don't trust him…sometimes I just don't know why. At least he's here to help. And thankfully, Janice arrives on time, looking at the container with a tint of horror.

"That's him?" She asks hesitantly.

"It is," Batman barks. The hand he uses more often showcases the same seed I got a look at before. "This was in him."

Bullock happens to be nearby and takes a gander himself, not paying any mind to Batman's gaze. "So…Poison Ivy? Gotta' be her, it's her style."

Despite having said the same thing, I can't compel myself to agree. Policemen need to get evidence to make a claim, and all this is a coincidence. "We don't know that Harvey," I say hypocritically. "Yes, it could be her, but for now-"

"'-We find out," Janice states as she gets her kit out. Then she swipes the seed from Batman's palm and places it on the pad. A few seconds later, a beep is heard from the device and her eyes flash with realization.

"What'd it say?" Bullock demands, no politeness present.

"It's a hit." Her fingers click as images appear on the nearby computer screen. One's of tree branches and another's a brown seed identical to the one here. "This seed's a match to a rare plant found only in a portion of the Amazon rainforest. _Melata Sunora,_ better known as the Sizzling Seed plant."

"Those things absorb sunlight?" asks Harvey, skeptically.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Janice explains. "They detect energy shifts in the air; geothermic, climate change, kinetic energy…and then leech that into themselves. Some indigenous tribes have used them to melt food or heat up water. If not handled carefully, they can give your hands burns."

Now it was all coming together. "Say you take a handful of these and drop them into the ground, or in our case, clay. They'd melt it, yes?"

"Yes," Batman intercuts coldly. "I've heard of them before. The amount of them that could – no, is – in Karlo will kill him."

Janice frowns. "You're correct," she added. "These plants don't cool down for days, sometimes a whole week before they heat up again. And Clayface won't last that long."

To my surprise, Harvey chuckles, catching everyone's attention. "Heh. Good for us, when ya' think 'bout it… No more mud man to clean up."

Batman walks over and snatches the donut remainder from his grip, tossing it to an empty desk. "We're not letting him die, Bullock."

"Says you, Bats," Harvey challenges. "I appreciate you and all, but are ya' expecting this goose chase with Gotham's worst to go on forever?"

"No. But if you allow this man to die, you're just like all of Arkham stockpiled together. Is that something you can live with?"

"Batman- "I begin, but I'm cut off again.

"Let him answer."

Bullock looks at the three of us, then at the seed and boxes stuffed with Clayface. His face hardens while trying to think of what I know is the thin line he's walking on. I've walked it myself plenty before, and now the ball is in Harvey's court.

He'll make the right choice.

"…We save the idiot," he lets out. "Even if I got a dislike for his guts."

Not one to look smug, Batman swerves back to the boxes and grips onto one.

"I think we all know whom we need to visit if we're going to make a cure," Janice points out crossly. Batman and I gaze at each other, then respond with the same thing together.

"We'll go."

* * *

Poison Ivy is like one of those girls you meet in high school, so voluptuous that everything fades away. Five years or so later, they've looked like nothing's changed at all, but in her case, all that changed was her viewpoint on mankind.

She stares at the two of us behind a decent plexiglass cell, putting a finger to her lip while her red hair is down and her orange jumpsuit contrast with her mint skin. Her eyes excursive back and forth, trying to get some kind of reaction out of me. Maybe she thinks because I'm an old man that I'll fall for it. But I've enough experience to know that her beauty is a façade – a deadly one.

"Commissioner. Batman." The words slip out in a luxurious manner. Her expression is trying to seem innocent and intelligent at the same time. "What's the reason for the visit today?"

" _Melata Sunora._ We know, Ivy."

"Ring a bell?" I add.

The finger falls back down to the bench she'd on, yet her playfulness persists. "…Oh! Why, yes. Quite the plant, if I do say so, myself. Only heard of it once or twice, but I only used as a contingency plan for…" Her eyes blow up when she realizes what we're inferring about. "Ah…that's why you're here."

Batman's expression continues to hold. How does he hold that glare without breaking a muscle or something? "He's melted into a puddle packed into six boxes. Your seeds were in him."

"What can I say? I like environmental flair."

I cough. "Why? You two have a fight or compete over a heist?"

Her face dulls, tilting down at the floor. Her body posture falls and rises as her expression does, 'til the point that her façade is broken to reveal some emotion already there. "Back when the No Man's Land period was happening…he kidnapped me, tried using me to fill his wishes of controlling Gotham'. Do you realize what it's like to be abused, both of you? To be treated like garbage and kept captive until the next session of abuse?"

"If memory serves me," I exclaim, "you already got your revenge. You turned him into the soil."

"But he got better, didn't he?" She wags a finger and walks around to the side, leaning against it arms folded. "So I do care that if he dies…he feels what I felt."

"I'm not going to let him die, Isley," Batman points out. "What's the cure?"

Her lips harden into frowning. "How do you even know if there is one? At this point, he- "

"Enough!" My body sweats, my fists crack as I feel both of them glare at me. And I don't care. I've had enough of Ivy's façade up to now. "You could play cat and mouse with the two of us all night, and we'd get nowhere."

"Well- "

I shuffle right up to the plexiglass. "You're a fraud, Isley. You always claim to want to tear down the world and replace it with plants. All your schemes, all your attacks…and yet you're no closer than yesterday." Sweat rolls onto my cheeks, a reminder of how much of this I'm making up on the go. "Remember the people inspired by your message? The countries and groups who wanted to talk to you? You' pushed them all away for your 'own justice.'"

"That's not true."

"Is it?" Batman doesn't look fazed at what I'm suggesting. "If you can't go through with saving the planet from pollution, how can you go through with killing Clayface? I'm not defending what you people do to each other…but killing is something I don't think you'd want right now."

After I stop talking, I can feel tension permeate from her into the air. Just as I'm about to talk again, she sighs.

"The cure you're looking for? It's at the Botanical Gardens."

* * *

Batman calls me an hour later. He took a trip over to the Gardens, and just as Ivy said, the rare but tangible anti-seed is there. From then, Janice is able to synthesize the cure we're looking for. Harvey only half-complains as she gives it to the pile of mud in the boxes. She thinks it'll be a couple of days before he reconstitutes himself, so Bullock decides to spend his vacation days then. Makes sense. I soon wonder how the city would be if none of the costumed rogues ran afoul of it.

The evening comes around, and the department transforms into the night shift again. Rookies and detectives going out for cases. Paperwork to file last minute. Equipment to be put away or taken out. Someone tells me that the Bat- Signal needs to be de-powered for charging. They volunteer, but I shoot it down so I can do it myself. It seems like the most helpful thing I can do at the moment.

I push the door open, the cold ripping against my coat. Two feet from the damn thing and the sound of a shadow's weight plummets down. CRUNCH!

"Still around?" He asks.

"You know me. Cigarettes and paperwork before bed."

His body dances closer, but the cape keeps it shrouded.

"Janice called me an hour ago," I mention. "Clayface's supposed to make a recovery in a couple of days."

"Good." The tone is brittle, cold. After all the times I've talked privately with him, I can sense the direct shift.

"Were you looking to talk about that, or is there something else I should know?" I ask.

His position shuffles a little to the right, maybe unconsciously. "What you said to Ivy today…was there something else involved?"

A cough interrupts my breathing. "What?"

"You were angry, the first time in a while. Few things make you break your cool." Psychoanalysis much? "Do you have a problem with how I deal with my villains?"

"No…" I start. "It…It's just that I'm tired, Batman. Tired of having put up with all these psychopaths, time and again. Killing is too far, I know that. And deep down, I think Harvey does, too." Does he? "But when are we ever going to find a finite solution to this? Arkham is a temporary one – a temporary one that's no longer effective. Heck, there's a breakout once a month now."

"We'll find one, Jim," he replies.

I huff dourly. "Really?"

"Sometimes, you need to have faith." His cape turns and walks to the edge of the roof. "Until next time." Then he falls off into the background. A second later, I hear the click of his grapnel and he's already flying off. A black bob contrasting with a darker city.

That's all he wrote, I guess.

* * *

Wherever I'm at…it's hot. Tight. And I can't move much. I remember I was feeling' sick…

That's when I reckon I'm in some sort of Arkham cell.

The guy who's starin' me down?

The darn Commissioner. Crud.

"Morning, Basil. Hope you like the new cell."


End file.
